


one: vile romance

by dustybunnyplots (nicrt)



Series: 500 Prompts: Dare To Write Challenge [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 12:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7508542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicrt/pseuds/dustybunnyplots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the #daretowrite challenge from tumblr</p>
<p>prompt one<br/>wordcount: 493<br/>type: fanfiction<br/>verse: RvB, Lolix</p>
            </blockquote>





	one: vile romance

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to synnesai and her art for being the muse for this piece, and for helping with detailing the story even more

**://vile romance**

There's a certain way their professionalism works. A tad bit too intimate, a little too much symbiosis, and a lot less friendly than they let on. But they're professionals, and so they get their work done. At the end of the day, they get their bounty and get paid; at the end of the day, they're still professionals in their line of work.

It's after the end of the day when you get to see how far their toxic relationship goes. How desperation lingers and how dominance takes a hold. There's disgust in their guts and distrust in their veins; but they wouldn't do it with anyone else but each other. They're not sloppy in their kisses, no tongues waging war, only power built for pushing the other down. Teeth pull at lips, sometimes mocking and sometimes biting, never teasing or coy. Nerves burn and blood swell when their mouths are hard pressed upon each other; there's a lot of bite marks alongside the scars and wounds. Hands will wander and legs hook onto one another; sweat and blood sometimes mix but there were no tears shed.

No aftercare, no afterglow. These two spend no time in such nuances. It's the same kind of moment as getting out of a crossfire. They take their targets down, dodge the shots aimed at them and walk off the ones that do hit them. An exchange of pure ecstasy and numbing madness, no pleasant kisses or sweet dreams. One wakes and leaves while the other calls out to remind them of the next job to come.

There's a certain way their relationship works. A little bit uncaring, a lot less personal, and a whole lot of obsessive emotions. And they're professionals, so they're bound to find a problem in this liaison of theirs. It's messy, it's loud, it's evil, it's wretched; it's all body language, more screaming than talking. It's silence on one end, curses and swearing on the other. There is no other way to communicate that there should be no more losses, no more pain, and no more recklessness other than pinning one down on the sheets.

[A hand is gentle, it caresses the scars adorning a face. Fingers dig deep, tightens their hold and makes bruises in the skin. Lips press close to the pulse, beating steadily and strongly. The ride was slow and gentle, agonising yet welcomed all the same. Softness was not in their repertoire, it is not a common trait. They don't speak of it in their afterwards, but the touches still bother them and the calls mingle with the air. This is what they call theirs, this is what they mean by 'mine'.]

After the end of the day, they would rinse and repeat. They know no other love than this sort of kind.

But you won't get to ever see any of this in their professionalism.

And if you do, it's a bullet in each eye for you.


End file.
